7
I'm thinking wi’ sic a braw fallow,
In portith I might make a fen’,
What care I in riches to wallow,
If I mauna marry Tam Glen?
What care I, &c.
I There’s Lowrie the laird of Drummiller,
Guide day to you brute, he comes ben,
He brags and he blaws o’ his siller:
But when will he dance like Tam Glen?
My minnie does constantly deave me,
An’ bids me beware of young men;
They flatter, she says, to deceive me,
But wha can think sae of Tam Glen?
They flatter, &c.
My daddie says, gin I’ll forsake him,
He’ll gie me guide hundred marks ten:
But if its ordain’d I maun take him,
O wha will I get but Tam Glen.
Yesereern at the valentines dealin’
My heart to my mou’ gied a sten’,
'For thrice I drew, and without failin’,
And thrice it was written, Tam Glen.
For thrice, &c.
The last hallowe’en I was waukin,
My droukit sark sleeve as ye ken;
His likeness came up the house staukin’.
